Double
by Lividun
Summary: Smeagol fell at Mt. Doom, but who's to say he died? A little AU, because he meets up with the rest of the characters, but not overly so.
1. Where once was love, love is no more

Disclaimer: I don't own the story or any of the characters. Please don't sue me.

Summary: What if Smeagol hadn't died when he fell into Mt. Doom? Much angst.

Chapter 1: "Where once was love, love is no more..."

Deagol looked out across the calm, majestic water before him. It was early morning and the sun had not yet lit the sky, but a hush was upon everything and light, the light that comes just before dawn, illuminated the small river. How beautiful.

SPLASH!!!

"Deagol, you rascal, you were supposed to meet me here an hour ago!"

"An hour ago! Do you have any idea – that's it, you asked for it! WATER FIGHT!"

Wildly giggling, Smeagol complied as the two began to splash immense amounts of water, drenching both themselves and their respective opponents.

"Stop. Stop! I'm drenched and I'm not even dressed for this. That's why I'm late. Smeagol!" He reached out to put one hand atop my curly head, effectively holding me under the water unless I swam away from him.

I sputtered to the surface of the water. "Deagol! That's not fair!"

"Fair enough. You were the one trying to pull me under the water. Besides, what's a little water between friends?" He wrung out his hair and shirt, then patted me on the back, receiving an odd 'splat!' sound, since I was still drenched, too. He tried, unsuccessfully, to contain his laughter. I tried to glare, but ended up laughing, too.

"Here. I realized you must not have had first breakfast this morning, it's so early. I thought you'd like to see the river before dawn, but I know how you are with food..." He walked over to the shore and came back with a large picnic basket. "Here."

We ate, both stealing food from the other when we thought he wasn't looking, both feigning indignance when we found the food gone, until we'd both eaten our fill and dawn had lit the sky in colors of orange, golden yellow and red.

"Deagol?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember when you taught me to swim?"

He gave a short laugh, then tried to mask it with a cough, but didn't succeed. I blushed a bit at the memory, too.

"You were floundering around like some kind of a cat, like you couldn't stand the water and you were afraid to swim. They couldn't get you to even go into the water until I agreed to come with you."

"I was young, Deagol. I was scared."

"I know." He grinned and ruffled my hair, grin becoming larger as I tried to slap his hands away and only ended up slapping myself in the face.

He stopped and I sighed, leaning back against a tree.

"Moping?" Could that even be considered a question? He always just seemed to know.

"Yes, no, oh, I don't know..."

He waited.

"I guess it's just... I'm gonna be 28 tomorrow, Deagol..." he nodded, understanding. "and it's just... I... No one will notice." I tried to hide the emptiness that I knew shone in my eyes. Who was I to expect my family to care? They had bigger things to worry about. Of course, I'd buy gifts for them, but they'd always seem so surprised... I knew they'd forgotten again. And it wouldn't really matter so much if it wasn't... Every. Single. Year.

"You honestly think that no one will notice?" Deagol asked, looking hurt.

"No one but you." I sighed, accepting the hug and feeling like a nit-wit, but not wanting to make it seem like he didn't matter to me, too. It did mean a lot to me that he always remembered. It was just... I held back the tears I didn't even know had built up.

Deagol pulled me closer to him, until I was leaning against him, cradled in his arms like some new-born infant. I tried to get up, embarrassed. He followed me.

"Smeagol?" I turned to look at him, or, more accurately, the ground in front of him.

"Look at me." I looked up, tears still held in my eyes, which I'd been trying to hide. I should have known he'd see through that facade.

He put one hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him miserably.

"I'll tell all the Shire."

We'd spent the day together and after nightfall, when it was obvious no one was coming this year either, I could tell that Deagol was trying to find a way to distract me. I was up for a distraction, honestly, so I told him I'd come when he told me he was going somewhere.

"Deagol! Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Oh, come on..."

"You'll see."

Glaring, I complied, having no other options, really. If he wouldn't tell me, I'd show him I could be patient. For a little while, anyway...

"Deagol?"

"What?!?!"

"Nevermind."

"Ah. Here we are."

"The bakery stand?"

"Sure. What, you expected me to get you food the normal way? Honestly, Smeagol. You mean so much to me that I'd just have to put my life in danger to get you a worthy gift."

"Deagol, I'm really not sure if —"

"Come on...!" Deagol shouted in a stage whisper.

"Deagol, you're going to get us both into —"

"Who cares? If we get in trouble, we'll get out again. How hard can it be?"

I roll my eyes and give up. There is never any chance of winning an argument with Deagol when he gets into one of these mischievous moods.

"But Deagol, why today?"

"You'll see." He replied again, this time with a touch of annoyance to his voice. I let the matter drop. Fine, be that way.

We snuck over to the stand. Honestly, petty theft we'd done often enough, but tonight I was frightened. The owner of the stand, the son of the old baker, was quite large and very observant. He had a reputation for not being too lenient on thieves, whether they were only stealing bread or not. A part of me wondered if that was why Deagol had chosen this place, to get my mind off of current matters...

Oh! I'd run into the bread stand while I was lost in my thoughts. But this was next to where Deagol was hiding, shoving rolls into his pockets and everyone turned to look. The baker was angry. From this close range, I could see his face turning as red as a beet.

"Deagol! Run!"

This did not help matters. The owner of the bread stand leapt after us as we ran, but Deagol was too slow, hampered by the amounts of bread he had in his pockets and he couldn't keep up. "Leave it! Leave it!" I called.

"No!"

He turned and, to my utter amazement, walked back to the bakery stand. I saw him talk to the baker for a few seconds and the older lad's face softened somewhat and he laughed. A crowd seemed to gather. Not wanting to leave him, I ran back, too. What in Middle-Earth is he thinking?! The crowd split up just as I got there and I found myself next to Deagol.

"Deagol! What happened?!"

"Come on, Smea. I'll tell you on the way back."

"What happened?" I asked again, as we got further away from the market.

"Well, I told him it was your 28th birthday and that I had stolen these rolls for you, risked my own life to give them to you in love, because you're my cousin and you'd had a hard day and I wanted to distract you and... I payed for the rolls. But I did try to give a nice speech about you."

"You what?! You told them?!"

"Yes. Hey, I told you I'd tell the whole Shire. What made you think I didn't mean it? And I knew we'd get caught. I had the money. I just wanted to see the look on your face." He imitated an expression of panic, then started chuckling.

"Hey!" I charged into him, knocking us both over, onto the grass. "Take that back!"

"No."

"Take it back!"

"No."

"Take –"

"Smeagol." He wrapped one arm around me. It took me a second, but I returned the hug.

"Thank you, Deag."

"No, thank you. Oh. And I almost forgot! Come with me!"

"Deagol, you have got to be kidding me –"

"Come on!"

"Deagol!"

"What?"

"Where are we going?"

"You'll –"

"Deagol!"

"Oh, fine. We're just going to stop by my place for a bit. I've got something there that I forgot to bring."

"What?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "You'll see."

We both laughed this time, heading off towards Deag's home. When we reached it, he turned to look at me. "Wait here. I'll be back soon." He hurried indoors.

A few minutes later, he returned with his arms full. A very long, battered-looking package was in his hands. "Here."

We sat on the ground to open it and I looked at him quizzically.

"Go ahead. Open it."

A rustle of paper, then, "Fishing rods!"

"Happy Birthday, Smeagol."

And a happy birthday it was, too, I think as I awaken fully. The worst day of my life. The day all of this began. My birthday. I wish I was never born.

I must wake the others, soon. The larger one, Sam, distrusts me. He's probably right to do so. Frodo takes such care of him and the same is true of Sam's care for him. When I cared for someone.... but that was long ago. I'm not sure if Frodo can ever trust me. Even if he does, I'll never trust myself. I won't let him care. I won't let him become like D—

Tears suddenly come, unbidden, to my eyes. Even after all these years, losing Deagol – not the Ring, not the Eye or the tower or my banishment – was the worst day of my life. I raise my eyes to see the stars. I won't let Him take the hobbits to Her. Tears fall for my murdered friend. The hobbits sleep soundly. I won't let him take them, too. I won't be twice, a murderer.


	2. Trust and Love

Chapter 2: Trust and Love

I watch as Frodo gasps, then sits up, recognizes whatever it was to be a dream and lies back down. After a few moments, he sighs and gets up, taking the watch for Sam. Sam had fallen asleep long ago. We watched him – Gollum and I.

I wince at that. No wonder they think they cannot trust me. I wouldn't even trust me, even now. Especially now. Now that I know what He's capable of.

Frodo walks over to Sam, taking the blanket from his own shoulders and laying it over his sleeping friend. I look down, ashamed to be watching such a display of tenderness. They are like brothers. Sam already hates me. I don't know what's keeping Frodo from it, but he'll soon hate me too, no doubt. Sam snores softly. I dash away a loose tear, looking at the ground in shame and guilt over what I have become.

"Smeagol."

My head snaps up to look at Frodo. His eyes meet mine intensely, almost eerily, in the moonlight. My gaze falters and blurs. I begin to cry. Time seems to stop.

Suddenly, I feel something on my back. My mind races back to the tower and I yelp, only to turn and find Frodo there beside me, eyes compassionate once more.

"Sshhhhh. It's alllllright."

I put my huge head into my lap and sob quietly. "Gollum, Gollum…" Frodo continues to rub my back – why does he not find me revolting as all the others did?

"Shhhh…"

I hate myself. I hate Gollum. I hate the Dark Lord and Mordor and the tower guards and this whole # life! I want Deagol! I want the Shire! Nothing else, just please…!

"Please…!" I catch myself saying. Oh, Eru! Did I actually just say all of that?!

"Smeagol… I'm so sorry. I want the Shire, too – and we'll get back there, after this is over. We'll bring you back. But… Smeagol… I…"

"I know. I knnnoooowww." I moan. Stop crying, I fuss at myself. You'll wake Sam and Frodo will be angry and you'll be left alone again. Alone… so many years… not again! Never again.

"You know,… I have friends in the Shire… Merry, Pippin, Fatty. I'm sure, when – if we get out of this… I'm sure they'd care, too. And I don't find you 'revolting.' It's not your fault; I know what It's doing to you."

I shiver at this and Frodo removes his vest, placing it over me. His eyes search mine again.

"Here. I've got enough on underneath it that I can certainly spare it. I wish you could stand the cloak… poor Smeagol. How long has it been since you've worn anything but that?" He gestured at the cloth, tied around me for modesty.

After Deagol's death and Dark Lord, I don't know why I'd bothered, but… His words echo in my ears… 'how long has it been…?' I realize I can't remember. So many years in the caves, with only Gollum and the Ring… my clothes had fallen apart, deteriorated with time. No one ever cared enough to give me new ones. I had not considered this for so long. It seemed normal to me.

"I… I do not know."

His eyes look to the ground and I can see tears in them.

"I'm so… so sorry. Please… get some sleep, Smeagol."

I wonder, as I begin to drift into sleep, if Frodo's friends are as compassionate as he says. Merry, Pippin and Fatty? I think I may have seen Merry and Pippin before. I try to remember their faces, but fail. I know they were hobbits and I have a fairly good idea that at least one of them was from Tookborough, from their accents. I pull Frodo's vest more tightly around me and eventually drift into black nothingness.

I must leave the Shire. My Aunt told me to leave months ago, but I only used the Ring to hide here, to get food and jewelry to trade for food, and to sleep within the boundaries of my home. But no longer.

Where I once delighted in the sunlight and laughter of the Shire, the sun burns me now and the laughter mocks me. I know somehow that it is the precious. It wants the dark. It hates the laughter of the little ones. I follow it blindly.

What else can I do? I… killed… Deagol. I shall not attempt to deny it. The Ring wants me to follow it. Why not? Could it possibly be any worse than the murder I have already committed? Let it guide me, for my will is broken. Deagol is dead.

I exit the Shire by the River, paddling our boat, the boat Deagol and I had used when fishing, so many times, in this river. I bring it to shore in an unknown land and take off the precious.

I wander aimlessly for a few weeks, hiding from the sunlight, scavenging for food. Eventually I succumb completely to hunger and, when I find a fish at the beginning of the second day, I eat it raw.

I long for the night. Only then can the precious be happy.

In less than a month, I come upon my new home: a cave within a mountain seems to beckon to me. I enter and find it to be a dark, damp place with a few tunnels and a main chamber. A walkway seems to have formed in the rock, a small ledge surrounding a drop of about fifty ells. A large rock sits, balanced on a slightly larger portion of the ledge. On this I spend the night. And the next. And the next.

For years, I stayed in this place. The two spaces and the tunnels of the mountain became my home. Who was I – a murderer – to ask for sunlight? Of what use was it anyway? I would be burnt by it, should I leave the cave. I swore that I would never leave.

Yet another would not leave, either. Gollum plagued me. We were each other's only companions, yet he was a monster worse than I. He delighted in reminding me of Deagol, of taunting me with the precious. As though I would not have been this way without him. After a while, it was hard to tell the difference. Who was Smeagol, truly? Did he even exist?


	3. To Fail

Chapter 3: To Fail

((I SEE YOU! Nooo!)) Panting heavily, I awaken with a start.

It is the middle of the night. Or is it? In Mordor, is there a day? I glance towards the fat hobbit. Still sleeping. Frodo? Asleep.

((The Pressssioussssss calls. Gollum, Gollum. Oh!)) No, I won't let him murder again! My determination from the previous day returning, I argue with Gollum.

Master is nice to Smeagol. He is not like the other Baggins. But Sam /was/ mean to Smeagol… Master loves him, though! Maybe the fat one is like me another lost cause. Why does Frodo even care about us? Maybe we /both/ deserve to die.

/Again, he threatens to take them to Her. Again, I frantically try to change his mind. He speaks of murdering them both! ((Master is Smeagol's only friend! Please, no/Please, not again./ ))

I come to with tears running down my face, but what surprises me even more is the presence of the fat hobbit above me. He is yelling loudly. Why must he wake Master? Poor, poor Frodo.

He says that I spoke of murdering them both! I start to cry and plead that I did not, though every one of us knows the truth. I can see the mistrust in Frodo's eyes – he knows!

Frodo says that I am their only guide and that he has to trust me, at least somewhat. I am simultaneously honored and alarmed. But if he trusts me… and I lead them to Her…! Oh, please! Please, Frodo, don't be so foolish!

Before any of my tears can so much as build behind my eyes, I am Gollum again. We surge forward, as Master says that the three (or four) of us have stayed here too long and we need to walk further today.

I feel my mouth move to form the words: "Follow Smeagol!"

((But we are going the wrong way, Precious! We are going…! No! No, Gollum, don't!)) I am helpless in my own mind. I cannot even shed the tears I would cry, for I know of the doom that awaits my new friend. ((Master! Oh, Frodo, forgive me!))

I lead them towards the mouth of Shelob's lair: Cirith Ungol. The fat hobbit comments about the smell. ((Yessss, Presssssiousssss, rotting flesh will do that… GET OUT OF MY MIND! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!))

Frodo looks out across the lands of Mordor and catches sight of the fiery mountain in the distance. Overjoyed that his Quest is almost over, he begins to wildly frolic and dance, turning his back at just the wrong moment… A shadow falls across him. Oh, Bereth, it's Her!

I look for the other hobbit… he's stumbling, falling in his haste to warn Master in time! ((FRODO!)) Unbidden, my sinewy limbs carry me up the sides of the mountainous lair, to the top of the huge cliff-side. ((Frodo! Frodo! Frodo! Nooooooooo!)) We are silent.

I can't do this again! I can't do this again! I remember everything so clearly! Bereth, nooooo! Please, no… Deagol! We'd been out fishing and Deagol had fallen beneath the boat… When he'd come back up, he had something clasped in his hand! The Ring… NO! I curse the day I was ever born! Why was I born into this world, only to take my poor, sweet Deagol from it? Deagol, who had raised and coddled me since I was born! Deagol, who had shared my life with me and called me brother! My poor Deagol… no… no… no… We fought over the Ring. I blacked out. When I awoke, it was to find my hands around Deagol's neck. I had no control over my body or mind. Deagol looked on me with fear and pain, his lips a terrifying shade of blue… a shade which almost matched his neck. But his eyes were unfocussed, glazed… ((…no…)) He was dead.

And now Frodo was dead, too. Dead because of me, just like Deagol! Oh, Frodo, Deagol… why? Why!

I see a flash of light from the ground and Gollum moves us closer to see. ((GET OUT OF MY MIND, YOU FILTHY BEAST!)) He just laughs in response. I feel on the verge of tears again, but of course, I have no power to shed them.

The spider is nowhere to be seen. Instead, Sam lies on the ground, cradling a bound form which is shaped suspiciously like… ((Frodo.)) I listen to his speech to the "dead" Frodo, tears which Gollum will finally allow falling from my eyes.

"…one wish, one wish in all my life, it would be to come back and find you again."

Such devotion. Such love. Can this be what Frodo saw in Sam?

But if Sam is not a "lost cause," then… Can this be what Frodo saw… in me? ((Do not be a fool. Devotion. Love. Hah! You led them to Her. You are not to be trusted – even Frodo knew that! And you pretend that you are /devoted./ ))

I am silent. What can I say? What can I ever say? Deagol… and now Frodo… are… /gone./ Because of me. He speaks the truth. Yes, Sam was devoted to him, but I, may my name be cursed… I may have killed him.

He laughs at this with a note of scorn which can never be conveyed. ((You may have killed him! Look again! His is a fate worse than death!))

Orcs from the tower, their torches gleaming in the midnight air, stop to look down upon the still form. ((Oh, no… But- but if he's not dead, then…))

((Then they will take him to the tower. You know that fate well, do you not, little one?))

Oh, Frodo, no… ((FRODO!))


End file.
